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Friendly Interrogation
Galin adjusts the collar on his khaki blouse shirt. He walks into the lobby of NRI Headquarters with a datapad clutched in one hand. He was given orders to meet the recently rescued Ambassador to start her debriefing process from her time spent in Imperial custody. He is followed by an R2 astromech that whistles and chirps at him, showing his displeasure at being assigned to a task at headquarters and not out in the field. "I don't like it either Max, but with the conflict in Caspar, we are shorthanded here." The ambassador is early. Perched on the corner of a chair in the office she'd been directed to, the 'canary' appears tensed for flight. One hand cups around the elbow leaning on the circular table, the other props up her chin while a non-existent fingernail habitually nibbled on. Her eyes are glued to the scrolling news feed she's broadcasting from her datapad to the tabletop's projector. Fire. Mayhem. The beat of thousands of boots thumping in time as they march along the street...what used to be Embassy Plaza. It's even more horrific when viewable from all angles, the hazy figurines reliving the scenes over...and over...and over across the table. Seems someone's started her homework early. Makeup fails to conceal the hollows beneath Ambrosia's eyes. Most of her clothing seems loose-fitting, comfortable...but dropping a sudden ten-fifteen pounds will do that. A navy blue tunic hangs to her knees, belted beneath the bust line with a thick, woven band of beads and threads. The neckline sags, revealing a glittering, gemstone ring on entwined, silver banding that hands from around her neck on a...boot lace? Gray leggings hug her legs till loosening a bit over the ankles - bare inside a matching pair of flat slippers. No braids....just clean locks, brushed back over her shoulders. Nothing business-like about this outfit. Nothing fancy. Just...clean. And that's great for now. Galin brushes his fingers across the keypad to the office's door, causing it to open with a whoosh as he steps in, followed by 'Max'. "Good morning, Madam Ambassador." He offers her politely, "Would you care for anything to drink?" He sits down on the other side of the desk setting his datapad down, tapping a button to kill the outside feed for the moment, "Before we go on the record, I am glad that you are out of that hell hole. This is only a formality really." He flicks his datapad on and sets it to record mode, "Are you ready to begin?" Ambrosia continues to stare morosely for a few moments at the now empty air before she responds, unfolding from her hunch and aligning her spine stiffly against the chair’s back. She tips her head aside, watching the vermillion eyes watching her, and tries to place his voice with some recent memory. "Ghost three?" She questions "Or Wildman? One of you owes me a drink...On the record." Perhaps that's a 'yes'. The Chiss Agent cracks a smile in response to her question," Of course, so for the record. I need you to state your name, occupation, and serial number." He makes a motion towards Max, "Start recording now." Something about his request strikes an odd chord of humor in the diplomat and her lips curl askew with a crooked smile. "Seems like a simple question, wouldn't it..." she muses and rubs at an oncoming throb in her left knee. It isn't long before the right one is echoing the memory. A thin line of sweat has already formed on her brow, but she maintains eye contact and answers the question complacently. "Ambrosia Delgard, Ambassador, former NR Delegate to Caspar, and I haven't a damn clue what my serial number is." '784921!' an arrogant, nasally voice chirps in her head, but she does her best to ignore. Shifting sideways in her seat, she instead fishes for something in a back pocket, then slides the temporary ID card across the desk. "That one." Galin picks up the ID card, looking it over and holding it up for Max to record, "Record Item #1, the Ambassador's temporary ID card." He hands it back to her, "Let's begin with the night the Embassy was attacked, where were you when the protests started? Walk me through your actions that night." He glances down at his datapad, observing the biometric data being collected from the scanners installed in the room. Mostly in-line with what he would expect from a recently released prisoner. "Was sleeping. We both were," Ambrosia begins, threading her fingers together in her lap while one slipper heel drums an almost silent tune on the floor. Her left hand tries to keep time, it would seem, if not held still by its partner. "Sgt Jacobsen woke me up...lips flapping away like he had something important to say. I was pissed...had taken awhile to GET to sleep with the mob carrying on, day and night. Cued an implant," she taps her right ear, "heard what all the flapping was about. Things were getting violent. Perimeter on verge of breaching...so I got up. Leo materialized," she gestures, "in his creepy, Jedi fashion, and I found some clothes. Went into Gabi's room, woke her, got her bag. I'd had it packed for a few days...knew it was only a matter of time." Galin looks up, watching her face as she speaks. "Was this before the Embassy perimeter was breached?" He rests his hands on the table, his voice a neutral tone as he asks these questions, observing her reaction as well as the words. The R2 unit quietly observing the whole scene from its camera eye. "Then what happened after the violence started?" Ambrosia shrugs. "Bits and pieces of comm through my marines' helmets. Shots fired, from the mob, return fire given, stun setting, all units falling back...enemy fire on the roof - not civilian. They got over the fence on the lawn, pushed the plaza guards back as they continued to retreat, I guess." Glancing to the little droid, a touch of sadness creases her brow. Oh, C4...left to the mercy of the mob in the lobby, no doubt. Probably scattered ten ways or more. "I gave Leo his final instruction - sent Gabi away with him, while I tapped into the holoterm network for the building...set all units to record and broadcast. Try to catch the bastards in action. Something exploded - the door, I think, the main entrance. Gabi told me the other day that she saw a guy blow up...saw his leg go flying, so they turned around and went the other way. Jacobsen and I stayed in my suite for most of it, so I could deliver a final speech, try to herald YOU guys..." she shakes her head "I don't know what happened on the roof, but...they were no longer responding, up there. I could hear the mob - they were inside. Chaos. I sent Jacobsen out, I grabbed my DD6, went to join the six stationed at the residence corridor doorway and fired a shot into the air...tried to get people to just be STILL. And listen. But they didn't even notice me. Couldn't even see their target through all the red, so I ordered my troops to fall back, get out. Abandon post." She closes her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath and cracks her knuckles, one by one. "Imperial troopers emerged from the stairwell - they had killed all lift units. Spotted me as I was running back to my apartment...gave chase. I was faster. Got back inside, locked the door. Armed myself to the teeth." Galin takes notice of the word Imperial, "What sort of Imperial troops were present? Storm Troopers? Did you record any of their presence? Where are the recordings stored? Do you think it would be possible to retrieve them?" The field agent in him, curious about the source of intelligence. He pauses for a minute before resuming, "So the Jedi fled with your daughter and you stayed behind with the Marines, How were you captured?" He continues to monitor the sensor readings, making sure the time stamps correspond with her answers. The ambassador's forehead wrinkles in thought, eyes turned vacant as they search inward. "Um...not white. They were black. Black uniform, armor...I think. I heard them, more than anything, I caught just a glimpse, but wasn't pausing to look back. It took'em awhile to open the door. I waited behind my desk. Holo unit on it was probably the last one left recording. I suspect the rioters smashed everythingelse...they had to have been through the office corridors by then. I heard several shot fired, distant. Then tampering with my door. Took out the implants," she reaches up to her ears, left hand continuing its rhythmic tremor. "Knew it was gonna be loud. So I chose silence. I yelled once for them to go away, get out of my house. Figured I'd give them one warning before sending'em underground. Put a smoking crater through the chest of the first unlucky bastard to get through the door," she fires a finger into the air. The room lit up, then. Nailed two more...maybe not dead. Then I guess they got me. Just a blur after that. Smoke, ceiling, floor, something sticky...blood maybe." Her fingers graze over the back of her head. "Must've used a stun round." Ambrosia offers a hapless shrug. "The broadcasts were sent live to a few terminals I had in my cue...local joints. A cantina. CDU office building...a few of ours. Deliverance, maybe? Chief of State's office. I don't know how much they actually recorded or sent, just...tried." Black Uniforms and armor, you say?" He takes control of the holo-projector, connecting his datapad and broadcasting the image of several Imperial armored suits, they consist of a TIE Pilot in an armored flight suit, an Imperial Naval Security trooper with their half bucket helmets and blast vests, an Imperial Shadow Trooper that looks like a blacked out version of Stromtrooper armor and finally a Storm Commando. "Were they any of these?" "Can you provide the address of the local drop locations, I will verify with fleet command and the office of the Chief of State if they received this data." He makes a mental note to include this in his report to the director. "So you were knocked out? Where were you when you woke up? Anything you can remember about where you were and who you dealt with will be helpful." Galin pours a glass of water and pushes it delicately across the desk for the Ambassador, filling another for himself. Water. Ambrosia stares listlessly at the glass. "I was thirsty..." she murmurs, then blinks her head clear and retraces her thoughts to the illuminated figures twirling idly before her eyes. "Ah...not the naval guys, no flyboys. That leaves the possibility of these two," she waves a hand through the shadow troopers and commando. "Like I said...details are hazy. Term units are not..." Bringing her own datapad to life again, she fingers through a few screens, then brings up a list of numbers and flips it around to show the Intel agent. "One is my last contact for Captain Cen. The other, my boss's office." i.e., Leia. Crossing right leg over the left, she slides the pad over to Galin for closer inspection. "I woke up in a dark hole. Dark, aside from the intermittant flashes of light. Extremely hot. I don't know how long I was in there. At least a day, probably more. Nothing except me and the lights. If I dozed off, they'd buzz the room. Loudly. Must've tinkered with the implants while I was out, cuz I couldn't turn the damn things off." The glass of water goes untouched, for now. She watches a bead of condensation form. Galin notes the identification of either storm commandos or shadow troopers, neither of which are particularly appealing. He also notes the addresses and listens to the Ambassador describe captivity, stress conditions, sleep deprivation, standard Imperial interrogation techniques. "What happened when that passed? Were there interrogators, can you describe them, their uniforms, and any rank badges that you saw?" His primary job in this debriefing is to glean anything possible to help shape the picture of what was going on inside the Empire. Ambrosia gnaws at her lower lip. "My hair felt matted...crusty. Head really hurt, probably split open my skull when I hit the floor of the embassy. Those Sarians love their marble, they do... I had it braided, so to pass the time I had unwoven it, was trying to groom, of all things, and then the lights came on again - from outside. They'd opened my door, two storm troopers and some grease-haired, intel agent. He was a little guy...my daughter could've probably kicked his shins in. But /they/ weren't." Ambrosia smirks, lowering her head into her hands for a moment to refresh, before looking forward again and reaching for the glass of water. "'Prisoner 78492 stands,' He said. I didn't know ass end from up, and before I could try, the two goons picked me off the 'bed' and dropped me like a sack of grain, held me down...bag went over the head. They dragged me out." The biometric sensors will show a slight elevation in heart rate as she recalls the encounter. "We took a lot of turns, then they stood me up. Read some proclamation of my crimes against the Empire and put a noose around my neck. Hanging, of all things. No firing squad." Fingering the boot lace keep-saking her wedding band, she works her jaw from side to side. "A noise, the lever, I guess, but instead of twisting in the proverbial breeze, I hit the floor. Hard. Heard something crunch in one of the knee replacements. Piece of shit tech," she grumbles and flexes said knee. "Then they moved me into the chair and removed the hood. Was your typical interro room. Bright, white. All sorts of pointy playthings waiting eagerly in the background. Mr. agent sits across from me with his little note pad. Wants my name. He knows it already, I tell him. Cretin 'A', I'll call it, breaks out the baton. Finishes off that knee. And so the song and dance continues for a few more hits while I tell him where he can stick it and Cretin 'A' continues to whallop away until /that/ leg is useless and the other almost as bad, while Cretin 'B' keeps me wrapped in his 'tender' arms so I can't reciprocate." "Were you still on the planet, on a ship or indeterminate?" Galin frowns slightly as the torture is described, finding it distasteful, "Brutish behavior is typical of the Imperial Security Bureau, were their tunics white?" He flicks a picture up of an ISB Officer wearing a black hat, white tunic and black pants, " What else did they ask you and be honest with me, what did you tell them?" There it is, the point of this whole discussion, there is sympathy in his voice. "Perhaps..." Ambrosia offers unhelpfully, eyeballing the picture as it comes up. "After round one, I'd given them my name. They threw me back in the cell. It was a ship...Nemesis. I enjoyed some more alone time, there...no idea how long. Then again with the bag and the barking and the dragging. "Next, we worked on my occupation. He says spy, I say no. Wouldn't settle for any response I gave him, even when the more recent, genuine job title came out. There was an offer on the table I couldn't refuse...a pitcher of water." Her throat bobs as she swallows down the remembered, cottony feeling. "I did answer truthfully, and still, he poured it out...all except my bartered, two ounces..." she holds her current glass aloft, watching it sparkle in the light. "That, that he drank." A frown, on that note, and she takes a long sip of it. "Put me back to 'bed'. More countless time...I started hallucinating, I think. Had wiggled a tooth loose in my spare time, made a poor weapon, though, when my friends paid a third visit." She shrugs, feigning indifference and puts the water down. "But I don't want the bag again. I stand, one leg, other just...hangs? Hop along over like a good girl..." Her mouth twitches, bitter smile forming on her lips. "But we don't leave the cell. He wants to know about who sent me to Caspar. It was no big secret, after all, that I've made my living overseeing various pacts and paper pushing there for twelve of the last fourteen years. I started at the beginning, with Dean Corso, as his assistant. Made it up to Captain Cen, dragging me out of desk duty on Ord...and then?" *Snap* go the fingers of her right hand. "Gabi became an orphan for 4 minutes, 38 seconds." Her enunciation of the time is chillingly sharp, cold, as flawless as a droid's. "So I'm told." "Did you get any names?" He listens as she goes through more torture and the interrogation, "What else did they ask? Anything regarding methods, passcodes, status of forces?" As she announces they killed her, at least momentarily, his frown turns to something darker, "We will make them pay for that, Ambassador, but we need your help to do that." "I---Died." She reasserts, index finger drilling into the desktop. Her chair creaks under her lean forward, over the desk. There's a degree of malice, there, lurking where warmth, compassion ought be, behind the dilation of her pupils. "Over. The course. Of days. I relished in the moment, floating free from everything, everyone...except him." Her voice catches, just slightly, as the twitchy left hand brings the ring to bear. "I saw him...could almost touch him. But I could see Gabi, too, huddled in the dark. I had to make a choice...and I don't know that I would have made the right one, and I'll never know, because /they/ just couldn't leave me alone." Eyes narrowing, she stuffs the ring back down her shirt and collapses back to her seat, palms flat on the table. "I woke up, tangled in a web of...life. Tubes, needles, and her. The doctor you've detained. Dr. Kovani. I stayed with her for a few days, then they sent me back to my cell. Still broken...but alive. And no longer thirsty. Which is good, because I had a lot of conversation left to finish. They'd cut out the crap and gone straight to the top, though. 'Aldus' and I...we had a delightful discussion." "There are no right or wrong choices when you are being tortured, we teach agents to resist, but it is always a matter of time. Some last longer than others, some die before they break." Galin takes a sip of his own glass of water," Dr. Kovani, what is her full name? What can you tell me about her?" As she continues, Galin listens, "Aldus? What do you know about him? His position in the Empire, rank, full name? What did you discuss, did he want to know anything that would be of tactical or strategic value?" "/Lord/ Aldus /Thel/ wanted to know the answer to the same question I do..." Ambrosia whispers. "I could see it in his eyes, the fleeting moment after CDU Minister accused the Empire of rigging their 'aid' with spy equipment. When she loaded that vid..." a light 'tsk' from between the canary's teeth. "It was over. It pleased me, the idea of the Empire being caught in a lie...but it wasn't their lie, was it? That man was genuinely shocked at what he saw. Confused. Angry. Not emotions oft reflected by one responsible for masterminding the plot. And then he looked to me, across the conference room. And I knew. I knew he would hold me personally accountable for that. And he did...at least until the drugs, the days of probing my brain with his 'questions' acquitted me of that guilt. In the beginning, during our flight to the Caspian system, I told Captain Cen, in no uncertain terms, that I do NOT deal in lies and manipulations. I would never have approved such a manuever...even if it meant turning the CDU against its Imperial oppressors. And yet..." "Somebody did," she hisses and looks to her left hand. "And I paid for that sin." Inhaling thinly through flared nostrils, she looks squarely to the little, swiveling eye of the droid. "However...I was still unwilling to give a statement, sign a confession to identify the Republic as the guilty party in instigating such troubles. Lord Thel can be quite a charming man...but I can be quite the bitch." Her upper lip curls, baring a tooth. "That's when he showed me the results of a DNA test." Galin continues to take notes, "This Lord Thel is the leader of the Imperial Forces in The CDU?" It is a pretty obvious question, but eye witness confirmation adds to the case."A DNA Test? What was that about?" He watches the biometric data, "Did that change the equation? If so how?" Pulse quickening. Blood pressure high. Boiling. And yet, Ambrosia's face seems to only grow paler, rather than flush. Her lashes flutter, gaze shifting aside to examine the exit. "Progeny," the ambassador utters softly. "He got his desired thumbprint, in the end. Cretins A and B had rifle barrels pressed to my daughter's skull. Seconds left on the clock, but...I had to be sure. See her face." The last words are barely audible. "Liora. That's Dr. Kovani's given name." "Doctor Liora Kovani, is she military? If so do you know her branch and rank? Anything else about her would be helpful." Galin sighs at the last statement, " So your confession was gained by holding a weapon to your daughter's head. How barbaric. From that point, how did you access the communications systems? and from that point, what happened 'till our previous conversation?" "She was a Lieutenant," Ambrosia replies numbly, studying the rim of the water glass, hands folded again in her lap. "Medical officer, stationed on Nemesis. That's why they left me in her care. He wanted me to know her face. She'll tell you that she was born Imperial year 16. But that's not true. It's a false memory." Galin flicks his datapad and a recent image, taken after the rescue of Kovani flicks onto the projector, "Lieutenant Liora Kovani, Imperial Navy Medical officer, on the Victory II - Class Star Destroyer Nemesis. Victim of possible Imperial brain washing." he goes back to the conversation at hand, repeating himself, "How did you access the communications systems? and from that point, what happened 'till our previous conversation?" Ambrosia cups both hands behind her neck, kneading. Stress, so much stress. "When he got what he wanted, he put Liora and I - and the whiskey - into my cell. We had a lot to talk about, I guess." Ambrosia sniffs and eyes the droid resentfully. It and its stupid, uncaring eye. "Once my 'full pardon' had been written up, they transferred us to a stateroom, deck three. Officers' quarters. Not before knocking me out, a final time. Repairing what they broke...new knees, new tooth, new ears...lots of new." The sour taste of bile rises in her throat and she squeezes her eyes closed, swallowing back the urge to vomit. "He...I was required to dine with him. A joke, I'm sure, as I couldn't really eat much of anything. Cept the wine. Flowed aplenty." Pursing her lips, she folds her arms over her chest. "I don't know how many days we were in there. The gowns, the shoes, the luxury of it all just...ridiculous. He even gave me a pension. Not that I could access any of it. Guards on us all the time, outside the door. They rotated shifts in pairs, escorted me to and from dinner and the observation deck. Security cameras rigged throughout the room. Made it difficult to do anything stupid, but Kovani tried to hack into the data terminal in our suite anyway, but they shut it down. She did manage to smuggle in a comlink - that's how we accessed the comm system. A shot in the dark, really. I didn't think it would work. Seemed too easy. Was just waiting for him to find it, but...he never did." A pause, then "Where are they keeping her?" Galin continues his observations, "When you were talking to your daughter, in your cell, what did you discuss?" Again his gaze flickers to the biometric data, while awaiting her answer. As she continues, he listens to her discussions about Lord Thel, "The comlink is how you were communicating with my recon flight? You do not believe that the Imperials intercepted those signals?" "If they did, the terms of my pardon would have been violated, and I would not have lived to sss..." Ambrosia trails off, thoughts turning to an early bit of her testimony. She tongues her new 'tooth'. Artificial. Hollow? Her hands lower, coming to rest over her knees. And the cochlear implants - completely internal, this upgrade. Her belly turns more queasy, a bead of sweat returning. "We discussed a great many things...much of it not easily digested. Her origin. Who she really is, who I was. /What/ I was. In their eyes." Burrowing fingertips into the softness of her tunic, counting ribs, she quiets. "It must have given him great pleasure to know the leverage he'd had sitting under his nose, this whole time. I will say, the man is far better at his job than his predecessor, Pantek. He wields his knowledge wisely. I do believe he's had this plot to sieze the Caspian system planned for quite some time. Just waiting for the opportunity..." The Chiss sits up, taking note, "would not have lived?" He is curious, the change in demeanor noted on his data readout. "Did you divulge anything that the Empire might be able to use against you and would compromise your ability to serve the Republic Diplomatic corps?" He leans forward at the desk, steepling his hands in front of him, "Tell me about the rescue?" Ambrosia scoffs. "Divulge?" She sneers. "I lived beneath their scrutiny every day for over fifteen years. I graduated from slaving over the assembly lines to serving their tea and warming their beds, away from home. There isn't anything to hide that they didn't already have record of!" Her left palm slaps the desktop, HARD, and she stands abruptly. "Did I 'divulge' any secrets of state? No! Because truthfully, I'm not sure I bloody well know any. I have a /very/ strong sense that I've kept out of the loop on much that has transpired surrounding the Caspian conflict, and THAT compromised my ability to serve the corps! THAT is what got me killed, and THAT is why some strange, 'bad' men hunted my little girl and the Jedi down like animals for the slaughter." The poor biometric meter may need a valium. Because it looks like the ambassador failed to swallow hers. "Please sit down, Madam Ambassador." Galin speaks in an even tone, "The sooner we complete this, the sooner you can get back to a normal life. I don't want to be here anymore than you do." He stops the recording for a moment, "I am trying to build as accurate a picture as I can of your time in Imperial custody as well as glean anything that will help our Intelligence agents in the field prevent stuff like this from happening in the future." He looks up at her, "I did mean what I said when Wildman and I found your signal, the cavalry did come and you are safe here now." "Like I was before?" Ambrosia retorts, remaining upright, behind her chair. Her knuckles gleam white over the backing. "Twice now, they have infiltrated our property, killed everyone inside, and turned things to ash. Twice, in thirteen years." Hate. She feels it. "I appreciate that the two of you had your ears open, out there. I do. But I'm not going to placate until the person or persons who jacked with my efforts, over there, fess up!" A mother's fury, at its finest. Tears well in her eyes, but they aren't fearful ones. "There isn't much to say about the rescue, that you don't already know. We were eating in the observation deck when I assume things began. Our armed escorts returned us to our stateroom - one left to relieve a comrade of his post a few minutes early, and evidently left the new guy watching us. He managed to lock himself IN, with us. Things went poorly for him, then, as Lt Halos and her team blew in the door, took him out, and got us the hell out of there. Unfortunately, the pilot left in the getaway shuttle is a little trigger happy and blew some serious gas lines. We /all/ almost died just getting to the ship, by way of asphyxiation. But we got there. And now we're here." Galin taps a few more things into his datapad before looking up, letting her get it out of her system before responding, "If there is something to find, we will find it, I assure you." He rises to his feet, motioning to Max, "Okay, we have what we need Max, shut it down." He offers a hand to Ambrosia, "What I have learned in doing this job is that nobody is as clean as they think they are. But Republic Intelligence thanks you for the information you have given us. I cannot say that we are done with this whole process yet, but I will make my recommendation to the Director, and we will go from there." "I'm sure," are the two words used to summarize Ambrosia's thoughts on all of his. A skeptic, to the end. She studies the hand, briefly, before accepting it in her own and delivering a firm grip. "Do pass along my regards to your Director, and consider this my 'formal' request that I be allowed to check in on our new 'guest', until she is released to my housing unit." Retracting her hand, she swipes her own data pad off the desk and grants the droid a cursory bob of her head before turning on heel to limp out. Phantom pains. They don't make drugs for that.